So it's done - my second London marathon yesterday. I'm sitting at home about 27 hours after the start feeling bruised and battered, trying to recapture some of the memories.
The logistics worked well - staying at my brother's house in SE London the night before and a lift to the start took some of the early pressure off.
The start: 35,000 people lining up to go in bright early morning sunshine. Feeling strong, feeling rested, feeling apprehensive.
Not so good: believing the weather forecast (14C / 55F, some cloud) but actually getting bright hot sunshine, with 21 C (70 F) or better. It was going to be a hot one.
The first 12 miles to Tower Bridge: feeling fresh and good, lots of energy, laughing and joking. Over Tower Bridge at 12 miles - Bob Dylan's Modern Times come on the ipod - a boost when I needed it - he can still cut it for me.
The support: tremendous crowd support all the way round - people urging you on, bands playing in pubs, drumming bands thumping out a great rhythm, fire stations setting up water sprays over the road to cool you down. Mile after mile after mile of people 6 deep by the side of the road cheering on absolute strangers - they estimate a million people out on the streets - fantastic.
13.1 miles - halfway: 2h 35m 48s - feeling good, but probably a bit too fast - I'd finished the Reading half marathon 4 weeks before in 2h 36, and that was without needing to run another 13 miles.
The gruelling bit: mile 13 - 18: after Tower Bridge you run east away from the finish line for a huge loop around the financial hub at Canary Wharf on Docklands. Feeling wrecked, and made worse by a lack of preparation.
Due to injuries, illness and snow, my training had been severely disrupted in February and early March - critical times when I should have been running 18, 20, 21 miles. My longest training run was 14 miles. The last time I ran further than that was 2003 in the Marathon. I treated myself to walking a minute per mile, which helps, but the difficult part is starting running again.
My pace suffered - looking back on the split times recorded by the chip on my shoe, I can see from sticking at a fairly steady 7m/km for the first half, from 30k (18 miles) I dropped to 9 m/km and it didn't recover.
All the time the sun was beating down - very hot, and getting into the shade of the tower blocks felt good. More good news - the drinks stations were all well stocked. In 2003, several times there was no water left for us back markers, but this time plenty - it really felt good both to drink and splash over my head.
Not everyone got it right - I start to see people collapsing by the side of the road, and every first aid station is packed with people getting massages for cramp. A runner next to me points out "That's all very well, but then you've got to get up and start running again".
One of the high points - meeting the family support group at Canary Wharf: (18 miles). Lucy, Katie, Charlotte, Kayla, Yasmin, Sue, Trevor and Lydia are all there, and pleased to see me. Stopped for few seconds chat, photos, extra supplies of wine gums and words of encouragement. Still feeling shattered but really glad to have seen them.
18 - 22 miles - more pain. My feet are now hurting a lot - I'm convinced I have huge blisters, but don't dare stop to look. The good news - the injury to my left foot that caused visits to consultants, scans and disruption to my training regime in February doesn't seem to be a problem. The bad news - the pressure is all in my mind - Who will know if I stop and walk? If I finish in 5 hours or 6 hours will anyone care? Why did I do this? Does it matter?
Decide the crowd is better than ipod, so take it off and get more involved in joking and high fiving the people still packing the route. This is four or five hours after the start, and more than 3 hours after the elite runners have gone through and they are still packed deep along the side of the road.
The best tip to any marathon runner - put your name in big letters on the front of your shirt. The shouts of "Come on Jay, keep going, we're proud of you" pushes you on. Even if you're walking, you walk faster and hold your head higher.
After about 20 miles, you start getting the "come on now, not far to go" calls, and when I think about it 6 miles is not far to go. I start to picture a normal 6 mile training run - twice round the university, just over an hour and it's done. I've clocked up 460 miles in training, so surely I can do it.
At about 23 miles you're back in the tourist zone - moving past the Tower of London, anticipating running along the embankment next to the Thames, past Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, a right turn to run down to Buckingham Palace and the finish. Then you realise there's still 3 miles to go, but it's getting closer.
I'm mixing walking and running, with huge crowd encouragement, but still hard, hard work. In an echoing underpass, a group behind stirs my emotions with a rousing chorus of the Liverpool football anthem:
"Walk on, walk on
with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone
You'll never walk alone"
Not for the first time that day, I'm in tears.
Then I'm under Big Ben turning up towards Buckingham Palace. The signs start saying 1000 metres, 900 metres to go, allowing the elite runners a chance to time their sprint to the finish. I decide I can run the whole last 800 without stopping, and 300m later realise I was wrong. Turning the final corner with 200m to go and then I'm there, under the finish signs. So pleased to make it I forget to stop my watch, but the official chip time is recorded as 5 h 41m 04s.
I stagger on to get my medal, goody bag and kit bag which I last saw back to the start. I'm eating chocolate and drinking more water when my phone goes - the magical chip time has been texted to Lucy and she's calling me with my time - only a few minutes after I finished.
The journey home - limping along to a tube station, back to Paddington and the train home to Reading. Slowly walking back down the platform in Reading still wearing my running kit and medal and absolute strangers are passing on encouragement and wanting to shake my hand.
Looking at the official results, I finished in 31,502 place out of about 36,000, but perhaps more interestingly 1669 out of 1803 male 50-55 year olds. A final average of 13 m/mile or 8.4 m/km.
Now, 24 hours later, my legs are feeling bruised but still attached. My feet are very sore - some small blisters, but nothing like the horror I thought I was going to get. I've got sunburn over my head and neck, and my shoulders ache from pumping my arms for so long.
When running, my feet hit the ground about once per second, each, so they've been through something like 20,000 impacts per foot. Every muscle in my body has had a battering, just keeping me upright and under control.
I can take comfort from the generosity of people in contributing to the NSPCC. My current total stands at over £640, which my employer will double to nearly £1300, and then there's gift aid on top, meaning that the NSPCC will receive nearly £1500. Thanks to all who contributed, and you can still donate online at: http://www.justgiving.com/26milesofjay
